


Another Perfect Day

by QuietREBelGirlWithVoDKa



Series: Justin Gabriel is Not a Pussy 'Verse [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Ass-Kicking, Asshole Coworkers, Bullying, Fighting, Hazing, IDK why the Usos are dicks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 00:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13201707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietREBelGirlWithVoDKa/pseuds/QuietREBelGirlWithVoDKa
Summary: These days, it seems like everybody has a problem with Justin. Or, part two of the Justin Gabriel Is Not A Pussy 'verse. Originally posted 12/9/2010.





	Another Perfect Day

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Another Perfect Day
> 
> Pairing: Justin Gabriel/John Cena
> 
> Rating: M for violence, language, etc.
> 
> Summary: These days, it seems like everybody has a problem with Justin. Or, part two of the Justin Gabriel Is Not A Pussy 'verse.
> 
> Author's Note: Cross-Posted on fanfiction. Originally posted 12/9/2010. This segment right here is probably at least 40% of the reason I even began this 'verse. I noticed something about the way these specific characters interacted, and it really caught my interest, so I really wanted to pursue it. Starts right after the July 26 2010 episode of Raw. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own shit.
> 
> Warnings: Violence, hazing, m/m.

"Hey! Hey, Justin! Wait up!"

Justin stops his exit from the locker room and turns to greet Otunga, who's rushing to catch up to him. He steels himself for the conversation. He and David are kind of barely acquaintances on the best of days. He wonders briefly what the other could want before David is upon him, using Justin's shoulder to hold himself up as he pants. Justin barely resists the want to roll his eyes.

"What can I do for you?" Justin asks, just wanting to get this over with.

"I just wanted to say, you're a genius, man." David says, clapping him heavily on the back. Justin nearly stumbles forward from the force. He coughs.

"What are you talking about?" the high flyer responds, confused.

"Your plan, dude!" David exclaims, excitement painted all over his face.

"Plan?" Justin's getting more confused by the minute.

"Fucking Cena to get to the top? That's fucking genius, man! Why didn't I think of that?" David says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Whoa, hey, I'm not-" Justin tries to explain.

"Uh huh. Sure you're not." David says with a wink. He pats Justin on the back again. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

"But we're-" the South African attempts again.

But David is already turning and leaving, muttering things that sound suspiciously like 'fucking genius' as he goes. Justin's absolutely perplexed. He tries to figure out what exactly just happened, but gives up. He shrugs his bag up higher on his shoulder and continues to walk to John's car. He gets the distinct feeling things are about to get very strange.

 

**III**

 

It's a couple days later and Justin heads into the locker room at one of the practice gyms to find his bag missing. He tears the locker room apart, and finally begins to explore the rest of the building. By the time he reaches the showers, he's near frantic. Finally, he nears the last shower. He hears the water running full blast at the wall and his heart sinks. He rounds the corner and, sure enough, there's his bag, being drenched by the showerhead.

The high flyer reaches for his things, but the second the water hits him, he recoils. The heat's turned all the way up. His hand's already turning red. He pulls it close to him and staggers back to the wall, sliding down to sit against it. He tilts his head back and wills himself with everything he has not to cry. He knows he's normally stronger than this, but god _dammit_ it's just so _fucking frustrating_. Sometimes he feels like they're only fucking with him. He knows that's not true; Heath gets it just as bad, sometimes worse. He's never been dragged out back and had the crap kicked out of him by a group of guys, for example. But that doesn't make it any easier to deal with.

Justin's not sure how long he sits there, staring hopelessly at what used to be all of his things before he hears John's voice echo through the shower room. He doesn't even respond.

"There you are." John says. "I've been calling your phone. I couldn't find you."

"I'm probably gonna need to get a new phone." Justin responds bitterly. He motions to his bag.

John gasps when he sees it. Justin can't even look at it again.

"Holy shit, Justin." the older says sadly.

He walks over to the bag and leans into the hot spray, wincing, but grabbing the bag and dragging it out. He brings it to rest in front of Justin, then sits down next to him. John pulls him closer and he rests his head on the Superstar's shoulder. They're quiet for a moment, and Justin's thankful for the fact that John is pretending not to notice that he's begun crying just the slightest bit. Finally, he stops and wipes his eyes, closing them and taking a deep breath. He stands and looks at John, his face hardened. John pushes himself up as well, putting a hand carefully on the younger's shoulder.

"You alright?" he asks cautiously.

Justin just nods. "Yea. Let's get out of here."

The high flyer bends to pick up his bag, but John's one step ahead of him once more, scooping it up.

"Nuh uh. I'm gonna go ahead and take this out to the truck. We'll figure out what's salvagable when we get back to the hotel. In the meantime, I think I've got something you can wear in my bag." John says.

Justin looks at him nervously for a moment.

"Everyone else has already left. Don't worry. Just go ahead and get changed and I'll meet you in the locker room." the older says softly, sensing the other's discomfort.

The South African sighs slightly, but nods, wandering off to the locker room. As he changes, he rolls the situation around in his head. He wonders when all this shit is going to stop. He's unsure just how much more he can really put up with.

 

**III**

 

The high flyer is getting dressed to practice the next day when R Truth corners him in the locker room.

"Hey, man." Ron says, waiting for Justin to turn and face him before he continues.

"What's up?" Justin asks, pulling on his braces.

"Look, dawg, I think you're pretty cool and all, and you're real talented," Ron begins, "but if you're really just trying to get with Cena to boost your career, I'm gonna have to kick your ass."

"What? Look, I-" the younger tries, but Ron cuts him off.

"Cuz see, Cena's my boy, and he's a really good guy. He just tends to wear his heart on his sleeve a lot, and when he cares about people, sometimes he cares a little too much and puts everything into it, and it gets him hurt a lot." Truth continues.

"I know that, and I would never-" Justin starts. He sighs when the older interjects again.

"So I was just gonna let you know, if you're planning on fucking him to get to the top, I'd think my plan over again real careful. Because he's got a lot of friends who don't want to see him get hurt." Ron says, moving to almost loom over Justin. "Got it?"

"Yea, I-"

"Good."

With that, Truth turns and exits the locker room. Justin rolls his eyes and finishes getting ready.

 _This shit is just getting downright ridiculous_ , he thinks.

 

**III**

 

Unfortunately, Justin spoke too soon about being dragged out back and getting the shit kicked out of him. Although he doesn't get dragged out back so much as he gets cornered out back. His new phone starts dying partway through Raw, and since he knows he doesn't have any more matches or appearances scheduled for the rest of the episode, he slips out the back door to John's truck to grab his charger. Just as he turns and heads back to the door, however, the Uso twins step out in front of him.

"Well, well. What do we have here? A little lost angel?" Jey jokes.

"Hey, guys. Just needed to get my charger." Justin says, holding it up with a nervous laugh. "I'll just be going now."

Jimmy shoves him hard, and he stumbles backward.

"Not so fast." Jimmy snaps.

Jey punches him swiftly in the stomach. Justin chokes and doubles over, dropping the charger and hitting his knees. One of them lands a foot to his chest, hard, and he falls back onto his side, curling into a ball. The twins begin raining down punches and kicks rapidly. Justin brings his arms up to shield his face. Every once in a while, he kicks out, nailing one of them. This just seems to piss them off more.

"That's enough, boys!" he hears from behind them. "I think he gets it."

The twins back off, standing over him and laughing. Justin coughs roughly and pushes himself up onto his hands and knees. He spits some blood onto the pavement, bringing a hand up to wipe the back of it across his mouth. His eyes travel up the legs that have just stepped into his line of vision and follow them up to the face of Chris Jericho. His eyes narrow.

"Not so cocky now, are you, Gabriel?" Jericho hisses, hands on his hips.

"Did you get someone to write that one for you, too?" Justin snaps.

His head snaps back when Jericho's toe catches him in the jaw. He barely bites back a cringe as Jericho grabs him by the chin a half second later, making the younger look him in the eye.

"You need to learn some fucking respect, you little shit." the older growls.

"From who? You?" the high flyer returns with a laugh.

Justin's shocked when Chris slaps him. He falls back and lands on his ass, his hand cradling his face, his eyes wide.

"I'd watch my back if I were you!" Chris sneers. "Come on, boys. Let's go."

As they turn and leave, Justin calls after them,

"Come back with better lines next time!"

The screaming makes the high flyer cough more, however, and he doubles over, spits more blood onto the pavement. It takes a lot of effort, but he finally pushes himself back up, snatching up the phone charger. He stumbles his way back inside and to the locker room to wait for John. But of _course_ he's not lucky enough to wind up alone. Randy Orton is seemingly waiting on him, and the second he gets close enough, Orton descends.

"I don't know who you think you are," he begins threateningly, "but if you think for one second I'm letting you use John to further your own career, you're out of your fucking mind."

"Why the hell does _everyone_ think that?" Justin sighs exasperatedly. "Can I not just like the guy?"

"I'm sorry if your personality type makes me slow to trust you." Orton sneers.

Justin crosses his arms over his chest and glares right back, just as hard. "Oh, because you know me so fucking well all of a sudden?"

"I know your kind." Orton practically hisses, moving more into Justin's space.

"Right. Okay. Whatever." Justin grits out, trying to walk around Randy.

The Viper's hand shoots out and grabs him by the upper arm.

"Don't whatever me." the older bites out, spinning Justin around to face him. "Now, I really care about John, and I won't let someone use him to fuck their way to the top of the food chain."

And really, Justin can't help it anymore. He snaps. He shoves Randy off him, hard.

"Okay, no, yknow what? Fuck you." Justin growls. "I am sick and goddamned tired of always being condescended to and everyone thinking they know exactly who the hell I am and how the hell I think. _I'm done_."

"I-" Randy tries.

"No, you _shut up_. I'm talking now." Justin snaps, backing Randy up against a locker. "I have had it with everyone accusing me of doing something I'm not. I like John. I really, really do. I think it's fucking bullshit that everyone is putting that into question. And yknow what? For the record? We haven't even had sex yet! We haven't done _anything_ yet! So, _Randy_ , how about you explain to me how exactly I'm fucking my way to the top if the only thing I've even done with him is kiss."

Randy's quiet and wide eyed for a few moments before, "You really haven't had sex yet?"

"No!" Justin cries out. "Jesus fucking Christ! And even if we had, it's absolutely NO ONE'S fucking business! So why don't you all just fuck off about it and leave us alone? John's a big boy, and he's smart, and from what I've seen, he's a pretty damn good judge of character. I think he'd be able to tell if I was just going to use him. Let him make his own goddamned decisions about things."

Justin turns and hobbles over to sit on the bench, muttering obscenities to himself.

"Wow." Randy says, approaching slowly. "I'm sorry."

"I'm so fucking sure." Justin snorts.

Just as Randy's about to speak again, the locker room door swings open with a loud bang. Justin perks up, a pretty good idea as to who it is. John's rushing over to him a look of concern on his face.

"Thank God." Justin breathes.

He slumps forward into John's arms the second they're around him. Finally, he can just rest.

"Shit, Justin, are you okay?" John asks, examining him closely. Justin hears him hiss in a breath.

"Who told you?" Justin mumbles, trying to hide his injuries from Randy's eyes as best he can.

"Jericho said I might need to check on my boy after the match." Cena says worriedly. "What did he do to you?"

"It's not that bad." Justin says, struggling to sit up.

He colors in shame at the thought of looking this weak in front of the Viper. Cena finally seems to get it and he shoots Randy a look. Orton just shrugs. John glares, but Justin sighs, managing to sit up at last. John's attention is focused back on the younger 100%.

"Let me see." John says, looking him over slower this time. "Holy shit."

"There's no way that was just him." Randy reasons. "That looks awful."

"Because we asked you." Justin snaps.

Randy hangs his head as John's eyes go wide at the younger. Neither one says anything else, however, so John eventually just moves on.

"Randy's right, though. Who else was with him?" the older inquires.

Justin sighs and turns away. "Can we not talk about it?"

"Justin, come on. Be reasonable here." John tries. "We have to do something about this."

"Or we could just drop it." the younger bites out. "Please?"

John looks like he wants to argue. Justin's glad when he doesn't, just sighs instead.

"Alright. Whatever you want to do. I wish you'd reconsider, though." Cena sighs.

"I know you do. I just don't see what good it'll do." Justin half grumbles.

He reaches down and grabs his bag carefully, hefting it up onto his shoulder. He turns away when John tries to grab it this time, dragging it higher on his shoulder and exiting the locker room with a sigh. He doesn't really want to think about it anymore. He just wants to go back to the hotel, curl up with John, and go to sleep. Maybe Jericho will get tired of him soon. He can hope, he figures.

 

**III**

 

"Hey, John?" Justin asks right as they're about to drift off.

"Yea, babe?" John mutters back. He presses a soft kiss to the younger's neck.

"You know I'm not just trying to boost my career by seeing you, right?" Justin asks softly, his voice laced with nervousness.

"Of course I do. You wouldn't be here if I thought that for even a second." John says, rolling Justin around in his arms to face him. "I really like you, Justin. And I can see you really like me, too."

Justin nods and kisses John's lips softly, with a purpose.

"Just making sure." the younger says, turning back over and snuggling closer, falling asleep almost instantly.

 

**III**

 

Justin's been mentally kicking himself for the last three hours. He has no idea how John got him to agree to go to a bar after Raw, but here they sit. Justin's painfully sober because of his lack of alcoholic intake in public circumstances. It seems no one else follows that rule, however, because currently, he's surrounded by a pack of drunks. It seems like everyone is here. At least, everyone but the Nexus, which just makes Justin feel that much more out of place. He sighs and takes another drink of his water.

The high flyer has to give them credit, though. It has been fairly entertaining so far. Morrison and Truth had gotten into an arm wrestling match that nearly knocked over a table earlier. Sheamus evidentially likes karaoke when he's drunk. John has just been snuggly. Unfortunately, however, some of the others are very loud, talkative drunks.

Edge, for instance, has been bickering with the Miz for the better part of the last forty five minutes near the jukebox. Justin thinks it's getting kind of ridiculous. But then again, so are Jericho's rude comments he's throwing everyone's way. The high flyer has been doing his damndest to ignore the blond, and so far it's worked. He feels like high-fiving himself.

Then there's Randy. The Viper hasn't said a single word to him since he walked in. He'd felt like kind of a dick the night before, going off on the older man like that when he was just trying to look out for his best friend. He knows he probably would've done the same for Heath if the situation had been flipped. He stopped feeling bad about an hour and a half ago, though, when Randy was _still_ glaring at him from his position on the other side of John. Randy and John had gotten up to go get more drinks a few minutes ago, however, leaving Justin to guard the table with all of his sobriety.

He nearly jumps a foot and a half in the air when an arm lands around his shoulder. Cody Rhodes laughs as Justin breathes deeply, trying to calm down.

"I didn't mean to scare you!" Cody practically giggles out.

Justin leans discreetly away from the smell of vodka that's drifting out of the other's mouth.

"I do want to dance with you, though, so get up! Come on, let's dance!" Cody says excitedly, tugging on Justin's arm.

The South African laughs and carefully removes Cody's hands. "I think I'm alright."

"Yea, nobody wants to watch you fags dance anyway!" Jericho calls out from two tables away.

Justin grits his teeth.

"Fuck off, Jericho." he growls. "Isn't there an off switch on you?"

"What, like the one that we put on your car?" Jericho fires back.

Justin sees red.

"That was _you_ , motherfucker?" he snaps, jerking his attention to the blond.

The high flyer clenches his fists. He fights to hold back the angry tears that are brimming just below the surface.

"Ooh, princess is acting scary!" Chris continues to laugh, waving his arms around in mock-fear. "Looks like Cena needs to keep you on a tighter leash."

In an instant, Justin's on his feet, chair knocked over. He grabs Chris by his shirt collar and gets right in his face.

"What the hell did you just say?" he hisses dangerously.

The older is completely unaffected.

"What the fuck are you even _doing_ here anyway, Gaaay-briel?" Jericho continues, drawing out the A in his name. "I thought this was a pros only party. If I would have known you were gonna be here stinking the place up I would have gone somewhere else."

"In case you missed it, _Chris_ , we're on the same show every week. That makes me a pro now, too." Justin says, leaning in dangerously close.

Jericho doesn't even flinch, but he stops laughing and seems to sober up a bit.

"Whatever you want to call it, you're always going to just be second rate trash," the blond says, leaning in a bit more to get right into Justin's face, "Just like your fucking father."

That does it. Justin snaps. His fist collides hard with Jericho's face, sending the older crashing through the chair he was just sitting in. Justin doesn't even give him a chance to get up. He's on the blond, punching him as hard as he can. The high flyer lands a few good hits on the older's face, a handfull on his chest, and one really well placed punch crashes right into Jericho's neck. He coughs, but manages to throw Justin off him. As the younger leaps to his feet again, pushing one out to try and kick Chris in the stomach, Chris grabs his leg mid-kick and yanks it from under him. When Justin falls, his head slams into the table Jericho had been sitting at, bringing it crashing down with him. Drinks slide off and crash down everywhere, soaking them both and sending glass shards skittering across the floor. Jericho has somehow manages to pull himself onto his knees, and right as Justin sits back the older lunges at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming him back down, right onto some of the glass. Gabriel cringes, hissing in pain, and Jericho takes advantage of his distraction, landing one swift punch right on his jaw. Justin glares and knees the blond in the stomach. When he curls in on himself slightly to shield his stomach again, Justin manages to slide a foot under him and use it to flip the blond over him and onto his back on more glass. The force of the landing knocks the wind out of Jericho, giving Justin the upper hand once more, which he takes. He stands and rushes over, kicking the older hard a few times right in the side.

Suddenly, a large pair of arms is grabbing him from behind, pinning his own arms to his side. Justin struggles in the grip, kicking backwards at the person's shins.

"Justin! Ow, fuck, stop it! Justin, it's me!" John's voice finally filters through his rage filled mind.

Justin struggles for a moment more, but starts calming down. He sees Jericho sit up and strikes out with his foot, nailing the blond right in the center of his face.

"Justin! Stop!" John cries out again, holding the younger tighter.

Out of nowhere, Randy appears, also much more sober than he'd been before. Morrison and Truth aren't far behind.

"What the hell happened?" Randy asks.

"I'll tell you what happened! That little punk assaulted me!" Jericho pipes up, holding his bleeding nose. "I'm going to press fucking charges! You're gonna get fired, you hear that? Fired!"

Justin tries to get out of John's grip again, but the older fixes him with an angry glare, and Justin quiets.

"Guys, the bar owner called the cops. You need to get out of here, now." Morrison says, deathly serious.

John nods, grabbing Justin just by the upper arm. He hurries out the back door, Justin next to him, and Randy, for some reason, on their heels.

"We can take my car." Randy says, motioning to the limo that's sitting at the curb.

They jump in and are just pulling off when blue lights up in the distance. Justin slumps down in the seat, breathing almost a sigh of relief. Randy pulls out his phone.

"I'll call some people, see if someone can't talk him down." the Viper offers.

John nods his thanks. Justin feels utterly drained. He's just closed his eyes when John speaks up.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, leaning in and running a soft hand over Justin's face where Jericho had hit him.

"I will be. My back hurts from that fucking glass, though." the younger replies.

He feels John roll his shirt up to survey the damage and nearly gasps in pain.

"Jesus..." John whispers.

"Is it bad?" Justin asks.

Randy's looking now, and he lets out a low whistle.

"I'm not sure bad's the word I'd use." Orton says softly.

"Maybe I don't give a shit what word you'd use." Justin snaps.

John looks at him in shock, but Randy just rolls his eyes, turning back to his phone conversation. Justin lowers his gaze. He knows he's acting like a child, but he can't help it; what Jericho said had just made him so _fucking_ mad...

John lowers his shirt back and turns him around slowly, placing a hand gently under his chin and tilting his head up. The older presses a soft kiss to his lips, and Justin closes his eyes, just melting into it completely. He wants this so badly. He needs it, _craves_ it, and the next thing either of them knows, Justin's grabbing desperately at John's face, kissing the older as hard as he can. John's hands move to rest on the younger's hips as he lets Justin take control. The high flyer pushes him to lay down on the long seat, spreading himself out over the Superstar. Justin kisses him almost frantically, like he needs it to survive.

And maybe, he does. Everything that's been going on lately has gotten him so frustrated and anxious and worn so positively thin that he can hardly breathe, it seems. He just started a fight in a fucking bar, for God's sake. He could wind up in jail. But really, what did everyone expect? For him to just take it like a little bitch? He's had his things trashed, and stolen, and ruined. He's been condescended to constantly, always being treated like since he's a beginner, he's somehow not good enough, like they hadn't all fucking been there at some point. He's even actually gotten the crap kicked out of him, and for what? Being a rookie?

Yet, the whole time, John's always been there. The older has always been around to offer an encouraging word, or an ecstatic smile, or a warm hug, or a ride home, or just whatever he's needed. He's never had a bad thing to say to or about Justin, and the younger really can't put into words how much that means. He can't accurately describe to John how it feels to know that no matter what these assholes do next, the older is always going to have his back and be present to catch him when he falls. It's everything. _John's_ everything.

This realization slaps him in the face at the same time that his lover reaches up and wipes a thumb across each cheek. Justin hadn't even noticed he'd crying, but now that he does know, he can't stop. He pulls back from kissing and just breaks, sliding down to rest his head on John's broad chest. He tries to draw in a deep breath, but halfway through, it breaks off into a sob. John's arms come up to wrap around him tenderly, being very careful to avoid his wounds. Justin sobs harder, reaching around to hold John as well, sinking into his embrace as much as he possibly can. Vaguely, he registers that Orton is still there. Right now? He could fucking care less.

 

**III**

 

They're lying on their sides on the bed, facing one another. Justin's been bandaged up. Randy did what he could, but Vince still wants to see Justin in his office the next morning. It had taken a very obvious amount of self-restraint on John's part to not go finish the job himself once Justin had explained what exactly had made him react the way he did. Nevertheless, he agrees to accompany Justin to the meeting, sure he has enough pull to keep Justin out of too much trouble. The younger's not so sure. Either way, he's entirely too physically and emotionally drained to worry about it too much now. Now, he's focusing on what's in front of him, and what's in front of him is John.

Justin reaches out and draws John's face to him once more, sealing their lips together in the most tender kiss. When he pulls back, he doesn't mean to say it out loud, but it comes in the form of a sigh:

"I love you."

Instantly he closes his eyes, not wanting to see John's face. He can't believe he's so stupid, to just blurt things out like that, even if they are true. John's silent for what feels like an hour, but is actually mere moments, before,

"Do you mean that?"

Justin opens his eyes and looks directly into John's. There's a look in them he hasn't seen before, but it's not bad. There's nothing about it even remotely uncomfortable. Still, the younger has trouble finding his voice, so he simply nods. Something changes ever so slightly in John's eyes before he reaches out and pulls Justin close, place a passionate kiss to his lips. The high flyer gasps, and John pushes deeper. The gasp changes to a moan and Justin wraps his arms tightly around John, rolling over and pulling the older on top of him. This proves to be a bad idea, however, for the second Justin's back hits the bed he almost shoves John off of him in an effort to sit up. As John sits up next to him, he looks down at his lap. John rests a large hand on his shoulder, turning the younger towards him and kissing his forehead softly.

"You okay?" the Superstar asks.

Justin nods slowly. "Yea. Hurts."

"I'll bet." John responds. Then, "Paul?"

Justin's head jerks up. John never calls him by his real name. No one does (besides his mom. But. She's his _mom_ ). They lock gazes and Justin realized the older has that look again. The younger tries to open his mouth, but John beats him to it.

"I love you, too."

The high flyer forgets what he was about to say. He swears his heart stutters.

"Really?" he asks, a smile starting to form, the first one to really reach his eyes in a while.

"Really really." John responds, beginning to beam as well.

Suddenly, the Superstar has an arm full of South African. The younger is laughing. He hears John start to laugh as well, feels it from where his head rests against the older's chest. John scoops him up to sit up a little bit higher, turning to kiss him gently. John runs his hand through Justin's hair slowly, the younger smiling into every kiss.

When Justin finally nods off later, wrapped in John's arms, it's with a renewed sense of hope, and the knowledge that no matter what happens tomorrow, John will be there to catch him.

 

**III**

 

The next morning comes entirely too soon for either of them, and before they know it, they're sitting in front of Vince McMahon. Justin does his best to look remorseful. He thinks he does alright. John takes charge of the meeting, however, explaining to Vince about Justin's car and how Jericho had had the younger attacked the week before, going on to say that with the things Chris had said to Justin at the bar, anyone would have reacted much the same way.

"I mean, clearly, Justin is the victim here, Vince." John explains. "Chris has been singling him out for months now, and Justin finally got tired of it."

Vince turns to look at Justin, who's slumped down in his seat.

"Is this all true, Justin?" he asks, speaking to the younger in the least condescending way possible.

Justin just nods.

"Well, while I can't say I necessarily approve of how things were handled, I can't say I blame you, either." Vince says, turning to look at John as well. "I hope you both understand, however, that this is a very serious situation. Chris wants to press charges."

"Vince, you can't let him-" John tries desperately, but Vince interrupts him.

"But, considering the circumstances, I'll tell him that if he knows what's good for him, he'll shut the hell up and drop it. He's about to leave to go on tour within the next few months anyway." McMahon says. "Now, you two can go. Try not to let me catch you back in here, okay?"

They both agree and slide out the door. The second they're in the truck again, John reaches across the console to grab Justin's hand. They look at each other and John offers the younger a soft smile.

"See? I told you everything would work out." the Superstar says, pulling out of the parking lot.

"Yea, well. Can you blame me for being worried?" Justin asks.

"Not really. But seriously, trust me," John says, rubbing his thumb over the back of the younger's hand. "As long as you have me, everything'll work out. Okay?"

The younger nods and squeezes John's hand a little tighter because, for a reason he can't rightly discern, he believes that, one hundred percent.


End file.
